Cecilia vol. 3

F >> Frances (Fanny) Burney (Madame d\'Arblay) >> Cecilia vol. 3

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

"Never mention her to me!" cried the impatient Delvile, "I cannot bear
it! Go up to her, dear Doctor, and if you want a consultation, send, if
you please, for every physician in town."

Dr Lyster desired only that those who had already attended might be
summoned; and then, giving up to his entreaties the accustomed
ceremonial of waiting for them, he went to Cecilia.

Delvile did not dare accompany him; and so well was he acquainted with
his plainness and sincerity, that though he expected his return with
eagerness, he no sooner heard him upon the stairs, than fearing to know
his opinion, he hastily snatched up his hat, and rushed vehemently out
of the house to avoid him.

He continued to walk about the streets, till even the dread of ill news
was less horrible to him than this voluntary suspense, and then he
returned to the house.

He found Dr Lyster in a small back parlour, which Mrs Wyers, finding
she should now be well paid, had appropriated for Delvile's use.

Delvile, putting his hand upon the Doctor's shoulder, said, "Well, my
dear Dr Lyster, _you_, still, I hope"--

"I would I could make you easy!" interrupted the Doctor; "yet, if you
are rational, one comfort, at all events, I can give you; the crisis
seems approaching, and either she will recover, or before to-morrow
morning"---

"Don't go on, Sir!" cried Delvile, with mingled rage and horror, "I
will not have her days limited! I sent not for you to give me such an
account!"

And again he flew out of the house, leaving Dr Lyster unaffectedly
concerned for him, and too kind-hearted and too wise to be offended at
the injustice of immoderate sorrow.

In a few minutes, however, from the effect rather of despair than
philosophy, Delvile grew more composed, and waited upon Dr Lyster to
apologize for his behaviour. He received his hearty forgiveness, and
prevailed upon him to continue in town till the whole was decided.

About noon, Cecilia, from the wildest rambling and most perpetual
agitation, sunk suddenly into a state of such utter insensibility, that
she appeared unconscious even of her existence; and but that she
breathed, she might already have passed for being dead.

When Delvile heard this, he could no longer endure even his post upon
the stairs; he spent his whole time in wandering about the streets, or
stopping in Dr Lyster's parlour to enquire if all was over.

That humane physician, not more alarmed at the danger of Cecilia, than
grieved at the situation of Delvile, thought the present fearful crisis
at least offered an opportunity of reconciling him with his father. He
waited, therefore, upon that gentleman in St James's-square, and
openly informed him of the dangerous state of Cecilia, and the misery
of his son.

Mr Delvile, though he would gladly, to have annulled an alliance he
held disgraceful to his family, have received intelligence that Cecilia
was no more, was yet extremely disconcerted to hear of sufferings to
which his own refusal of an asylum he was conscious had largely
contributed; and after a haughty struggle between tenderness and wrath,
he begged the advice of Dr Lyster how his son might be drawn from such
a scene.

Dr Lyster, who well knew Delvile was too desperate to be tractable,
proposed surprising him into an interview by their returning together:
Mr Delvile, however apprehensive and relenting, conceded most
unwillingly to a measure he held beneath him, and, when he came to the
shop, could scarce be persuaded to enter it. Mortimer, at that time,
was taking a solitary ramble; and Dr Lyster, to complete the work he
had begun of subduing the hard pride of his father, contrived, under
pretence of waiting for him, to conduct him to the room of the
invalide.

Mr Delvile, who knew not whither he was going, at first sight of the
bed and the attendants, was hastily retreating; but the changed and
livid face of Cecilia caught his eye, and, struck with sudden
consternation, he involuntarily stopt.

"Look at the poor young lady!" cried Dr Lyster; "can you wonder a sight
such as this should make Mr Mortimer forget every thing else?"

She was wholly insensible, but perfectly quiet; she seemed to
distinguish nothing, and neither spoke nor moved.

Mr Delvile regarded her with the utmost horror: the refuge he so
implacably refused her on the night when her intellects were
disordered, he would now gladly have offered at the expence of almost
similar sufferings, to have relieved himself from those rising pangs
which called him author of this scene of woe. His pride, his pomp, his
ancient name, were now sunk in his estimation; and while he considered
himself the destroyer of this unhappy young creature, he would have
sacrificed them all to have called himself her protector. Little is the
boast of insolence when it is analysed by the conscience! bitter is the
agony of self-reproach, where misery follows hardness of heart! yet,
when the first painful astonishment from her situation abated, the
remorse she excited being far stronger than the pity, he gave an angry
glance at Dr Lyster for betraying him into such a sight, and hastily
left the room.

Delvile, who was now impatiently waiting to see Dr Lyster in the little
parlour, alarmed at the sound of a new step upon the stairs, came out
to enquire who had been admitted. When he saw his father, he shrunk
back; but Mr Delvile, no longer supported by pride, and unable to
recover from the shock he had just received, caught him in his arms,
and said "Oh come home to me, my son! this is a place to destroy you!"

"Ah, Sir," cried Delvile, "think not of me now!--you must shew me no
kindness; I am not in a state to bear it!" And, forcibly breaking from
him, he hurried out of the house.

Mr Delvile, all the father awakened in his bosom, saw his departure
with more dread than anger; and returned himself to St James's-square,
tortured with parental fears, and stung by personal remorse, lamenting
his own inflexibility, and pursued by the pale image of Cecilia.

She was still in this unconscious state, and apparently as free from
suffering as from enjoyment, when a new voice was suddenly heard
without, exclaiming, "Oh where is she? where is she? where is my dear
Miss Beverley?" and Henrietta Belfield ran wildly into the room.

The advertisement in the news-papers had at once brought her to town,
and directed her to the house: the mention that the lost lady _talked
much of a person by the name of Delvile_, struck her instantly to mean
Cecilia; the description corresponded with this idea, and the account
of the dress confirmed it: Mr Arnott, equally terrified with herself,
had therefore lent her his chaise to learn the truth of this
conjecture, and she had travelled all night.

Flying up to the bedside, "Who is this?" she cried, "this is not Miss
Beverley?" and then screaming with unrestrained horror, "Oh mercy!
mercy!" she called out, "yes, it is indeed! and nobody would know her!
--her own mother would not think her her child!"

"You must come away, Miss Belfield," said Mary, "you must indeed,--the
doctors all say my lady must not be disturbed."

"Who shall take me away?" cried she, angrily, "nobody Mary! not all the
doctors in the world! Oh sweet Miss Beverley! I will lie down by your
side,--I will never quit you while you live,--and I wish, I wish I
could die to save your precious life!"

Then, leaning over her, and wringing her hands, "Oh I shall break my
heart," she cried, "to see her in this condition! Is this the so happy
Miss Beverley, that I thought every body born to give joy to? the Miss
Beverley that seemed queen of the whole world! yet so good and so
gentle, so kind to the meanest person! excusing every body's faults but
her own, and telling them how they might mend, and trying to make them
as good as herself!--Oh who would know her! who would know her! what
have they done to you, my beloved Miss Beverley? how have they altered
and disfigured you in this wicked and barbarous manner?"

In the midst of this simple yet pathetic testimony, to the worth and
various excellencies of Cecilia, Dr Lyster came into the room. The
women all flocked around him, except Mary, to vindicate themselves from
any share in permitting this new comer's entrance and behaviour; but
Mary only told him who she was, and said, that if her lady was well
enough to know her, there was nobody she was certain she would have
been so glad to see.

"Young lady," said the doctor, "I would advise you to walk into another
room till you are a little more composed."

"Every body, I find, is for hurrying me away," cried the sobbing
Henrietta, whose honest heart swelled with its own affectionate
integrity; "but they might all save themselves the trouble, for go I
will not!"

"This is very wrong," said the doctor, "and must not be suffered: do
you call it friendship to come about a sick person in this manner?"

"Oh my Miss Beverley!" cried Henrietta, "do you hear how they all
upbraid me? how they all want to force me away from you, and to hinder
me even from looking at you! Speak for me, sweet lady! speak for me
yourself! tell them the poor Henrietta will not do you any harm; tell
them she only wishes just to sit by you, and to see you!--I will hold
by this dear hand,--I will cling to it till the last minute; and you
will not, I know you will not, give orders to have it taken away from
me!"

Dr Lyster, though his own good nature was much affected by this fond
sorrow, now half angrily represented to her the impropriety of
indulging it: but Henrietta, unused to disguise or repress her
feelings, grew only the more violent, the more she was convinced of
Cecilia's danger: "Oh look but at her," she exclaimed, "and take me
from her if you can! see how her sweet eyes are fixed! look but what a
change in her complexion!--She does not see me, she does not know me,
--she does not hear me! her hand seems quite lifeless already, her face
is all fallen away!--Oh that I had died twenty deaths before I had
lived to see this sight!--poor wretched Henrietta, thou bast now no
friend left in the world! thou mayst go and lie down in some corner,
and no one will come and say to thee a word of comfort!"

"This must not be!" said Dr Lyster, "you must take her away."

"You shall not!" cried she, desperately, "I will stay with her till she
has breathed her last, and I will stay with her still longer! and if
she was to speak to you this moment, she would tell you that she chose
it. She loved the poor Henrietta, and loved to have her near her; and
when she was ill, and in much distress, she never once bid me leave her
room. Is it not true, my sweet Miss Beverley? do you not know it to be
true? Oh look not so dreadfully! turn to your unhappy Henrietta;
sweetest, best of ladies! will you not speak to her once more? will you
not say to her one single word?"

Dr Lyster now grew very angry, and telling her such violence might have
fatal consequences, frightened her into more order, and drew her away
himself. He had then the kindness to go with her into another room,
where, when her first vehemence was spent, his remonstrances and
reasoning brought her to a sense of the danger she might occasion, and
made her promise not to return to the room till she had gained strength
to behave better.

When Dr Lyster went again to Delvile, he found him greatly alarmed by
his long stay; he communicated to him briefly what had passed, and
counselled him to avoid encreasing his own grief by the sight of what
was suffered by this unguarded and ardent girl. Delvile readily
assented, for the weight of his own woe was too heavy to bear any
addition.

Henrietta now, kept in order by Dr Lyster, contented herself with only
sitting on the bed, without attempting to speak, and with no other
employment than alternately looking at her sick friend, and covering
her streaming eyes with her handkerchief; from time to time quitting
the room wholly, for the relief of sobbing at liberty and aloud in
another.

But, in the evening, while Delvile and Dr Lyster were taking one of
their melancholy rambles, a new scene was acted in the apartment of the
still senseless Cecilia. Albany suddenly made his entrance into it,
accompanied by three children, two girls and one boy, from the ages of
four to six, neatly dressed, clean, and healthy.

"See here!"' cried he, as he came in, "see here what I've brought you!
raise, raise your languid head, and look this way! you think me rigid,
--an enemy to pleasure, austere, harsh, and a forbidder of joy: look at
this sight, and see the contrary! who shall bring you comfort, joy,
pleasure, like this? three innocent children, clothed and fed by your
bounty!"

Henrietta and Mary, who both knew him well, were but little surprised
at anything he said or did, and the nurses presumed not to interfere
but by whispers.

Cecilia, however, observed nothing that passed; and Albany, somewhat
astonished, approached nearer to the bed; "Wilt thou not speak?" he
cried.

"She can't, Sir," said one of the women; "she has been speechless many
hours."

The air of triumph with which he had entered the room was now changed
into disappointment and consternation. For some minutes he thoughtfully
and sorrowfully contemplated her, and then, with a deep sigh, said,
"How will the poor rue this day!" Then, turning to the children, who,
awed by this scene, were quiet from terror. "Alas!" he said, "ye
helpless babes, ye know not what you have lost: presumptuously we came;
unheeded we must return! I brought you to be seen by your benefactress,
but she is going where she will find many such."

He then led them away; but, suddenly coming back, "I may see her,
perhaps, no more! shall I not, then, pray for her? Great and aweful is
the change she is making; what are human revolutions, how pitiful, how
insignificant, compared with it!--Come, little babies, come; with gifts
has she often blessed _you_, with wishes bless _her_! Come, let us
kneel round her bed; let us all pray for her together; lift up your
innocent hands, and for all of you I will speak."

He then made the children obey his injunctions, and having knelt
himself, while Henrietta and Mary instantly did the same, "Sweet
flower!" he cried, "untimely cropt in years, yet in excellence mature!
early decayed in misery, yet fragrant in innocence! Gentle be thy exit,
for unsullied have been thy days; brief be thy pains, for few have been
thy offences! Look at her sweet babes, and bear her in your
remembrance; often will I visit you and revive the solemn scene. Look
at her ye, also, who are nearer to your end--Ah! will you bear it like
her!"

He paused; and the nurses and Mrs Wyers, struck by this call, and moved
by the general example, crept to the bed, and dropt on their knees,
almost involuntarily.

"She departs," resumed Albany, "the envy of the world! while yet no
guilt had seized her soul, and no remorse had marred her peace. She was
the hand-maid of charity, and pity dwelt in her bosom! her mouth was
never open but to give comfort; her foot-steps were followed by
blessings! Oh happy in purity, be thine the song of triumph!--softly
shalt thou sink to temporary sleep,--sublimely shalt thou rise to life
that wakes for ever!"

He then got up, took the children by their little hands, and went away.

CHAPTER x.

A TERMINATION.

Dr Lyster and Delvile met them at the entrance into the house.
Extremely alarmed lest Cecilia had received any disturbance, they both
hastened up stairs, but Delvile proceeded only to the door. He stopt
there and listened; but all was silent; the prayers of Albany had
struck an awe into every one; and Dr Lyster soon returned to tell him
there was no alteration in his patient.

"And he has not disturbed her?" cried Delvile.

"No, not at all."

"I think, then," said he, advancing, though trembling, "I will yet see
her once more."

"No, no, Mr Mortimer," cried the doctor, "why should you give yourself
so unnecessary a shock?"

"The shock," answered he, "is over!--tell me, however, is there any
chance I may hurt _her_?"

"I believe not; I do not think, just now, she will perceive you."

"Well, then,--I may grieve, perhaps, hereafter, that once more--that
one glance!"--He stopt, irresolute the doctor would again have
dissuaded him, but, after a little hesitation, he assured him he was
prepared for the worst, and forced himself into the room.

When again, however, he beheld Cecilia,--senseless, speechless,
motionless, her features void of all expression, her cheeks without
colour, her eyes without meaning,--he shrunk from the sight, he leant
upon Dr Lyster, and almost groaned aloud.

The doctor would have conducted him out of the apartment; but,
recovering from this first agony, he turned again to view her, and
casting up his eyes, fervently ejaculated, "Oh merciful powers! Take,
or destroy her! let her not linger thus, rather let me lose her for
ever!--O far rather would I see her dead, glad in this dreadful
condition!"

Then, advancing to the bed side, and yet more earnestly looking at her,
"I pray not now," he cried, "for thy life! inhumanly as I have treated
thee, I am not yet so hardened as to wish thy misery lengthened no;
quick be thy restoration, or short as pure thy passage to eternity!--Oh
my Cecilia! lovely, however altered! sweet even in the arms of death
and insanity! and dearer to my tortured heart in this calamitous state,
than in all thy pride of health and beauty!"--

He stopt, and turned from her, yet could not tear himself away; he came
back, he again looked at her, he hung over her in anguish unutterable;
he kissed each burning hand, he folded to his bosom her feeble form,
and, recovering his speech, though almost bursting with sorrow, faintly
articulated, "Is all over? no ray of reason left? no knowledge of thy
wretched Delvile?--no, none! the hand of death is on her, and she is
utterly gone!--sweet suffering excellence! loved, lost, expiring
Cecilia!--but I will not repine! peace and kindred angels are watching
to receive thee, and if thou art parted from thyself, it were impious
to lament thou shouldst be parted from me.--Yet in thy tomb will be
deposited all that to me could render existence supportable, every
frail chance of happiness, every sustaining hope, and all alleviation
of sorrow!"--

Dr Lyster now again approaching, thought he perceived some change in
his patient, and peremptorily forced him away from her: then returning
himself, he found that her eyes were shut, and she was dropt asleep.

This was an omen the most favourable he could hope. He now seated
himself by the bedside, and determined not to quit her till the
expected crisis was past. He gave the strictest orders for the whole
house to be kept quiet, and suffered no one in the room either to speak
or move.

Her sleep was long and heavy; yet, when she awoke, her sensibility was
evidently returned. She started, suddenly raised her head from the
pillow, looked round her, and called out, "where am I now?"

"Thank Heaven!" cried Henrietta, and was rushing forward, when Dr
Lyster, by a stern and angry look, compelled her again to take her
seat.

He then spoke to her himself, enquired how she did, and found her quite
rational.

Henrietta, who now doubted not her perfect recovery, wept as violently
for joy as she had before wept for grief; and Mary, in the same belief,
ran instantly to Delvile, eager to carry to him the first tidings that
her mistress had recovered her reason.

Delvile, in the utmost emotion, then returned to the chamber; but stood
at some distance from the bed, waiting Dr Lyster's permission to
approach it.

Cecilia was quiet and composed, her recollection seemed restored, and
her intellects sound: hut she was faint and weak, and contentedly
silent, to avoid the effort of speaking.

Dr Lyster encouraged this stillness, and suffered not anyone, not even
Delvile, to advance to her. After a short time, however, she again, and
very calmly, began to talk to him. She now first knew him, and seemed
much surprised by his attendance. She could not tell, she said, what of
late had happened to her, nor could guess where she was, or by what
means she came into such a place. Dr Lyster desired her at present not
to think upon the subject, and promised her a full account of
everything, when she was stronger, and more fit for conversing.

This for a while silenced her. But, after a short pause, "Tell me," she
said, "Dr Lyster, have I no friend in this place but you?"

"Yes, yes, you have several friends here," answered the Doctor, "only I
keep them in order, lest they should hurry or disturb you."

She seemed much pleased by this speech; but soon after said, "You must
not, Doctor, keep them in order much longer, for the sight of them, I
think, would much revive me."

"Ah, Miss Beverley!" cried Henrietta, who could not now restrain
herself, "may not _I_, among the rest, come and speak to you?"

"Who is that?" said Cecilia, in a voice of pleasure, though very
feeble; "is it my ever-dear Henrietta?"

"Oh this is joy indeed!" cried she, fervently kissing her cheeks and
forehead, "joy that I never, never expected to have more!"

"Come, come," cried Dr Lyster, "here's enough of this; did I not do
well to keep such people off?"

"I believe you did," said Cecilia, faintly smiling; "my too kind
Henrietta, you must be more tranquil!"

"I will, I will indeed, madam!--my dear, dear Miss Beverley, I will
indeed!--now once you have owned me, and once again I hear your sweet
voice, I will do any thing, and every thing, for I am made happy for my
whole life!"

"Ah, sweet Henrietta!" cried Cecilia, giving her her hand, "you must
suppress these feelings, or our Doctor here will soon part us. But tell
me, Doctor, is there no one else that you can let me see?"

Delvile, who had listened to this scene in the unspeakable perturbation
of that hope which is kindled from the very ashes of despair, was now
springing forward; but Dr Lyster, fearful of the consequences, hastily
arose, and with a look and air not to be disputed, took hold of his
arm, and led him out of the room. He then represented to him strongly
the danger of agitating or disturbing her, and charged him to keep from
her sight till better able to bear it; assuring him at the same time
that he might now reasonably hope her recovery.

Delvile, lost in transport, could make no answer, but flew into his
arms, and almost madly embraced him; he then hastened out of sight to
pour forth fervent thanks, and hurrying back with equal speed, again
embraced the Doctor, and while his manly cheeks were burnt with tears
of joy, he could not yet articulate the glad tumult of his soul.

The worthy Dr Lyster, who heartily partook of his happiness, again
urged him to be discreet; and Delvile, no longer intractable and
desperate, gratefully concurred in whatever he commanded. Dr Lyster
then returned to Cecilia, and to relieve her mind from any uneasy
suspense, talked to her openly of Delvile, gave her to understand he
was acquainted with her marriage, and told her he had prohibited their
meeting till each was better able to support it.

Cecilia by this delay seemed half gratified, and half disappointed; but
the rest of the physicians, who had been summoned upon this happy
change, now appearing, the orders were yet more strictly enforced for
keeping her quiet.

She submitted, therefore, peaceably; and Delvile, whose gladdened heart
still throbbed with speechless rapture, contentedly watched at her
chamber door, and obeyed implicitly whatever was said to him.

She now visibly, and almost hourly grew better; and, in a short time,
her anxiety to know all that was passed, and by what means she became
so ill, and confined in a house of which she had not any knowledge,
obliged Dr Lyster to make himself master of these particulars, that he
might communicate them to her with a calmness that Delvile could not
attain.

Delvile himself, happy to be spared the bitter task of such a relation,
informed him all he knew of the story, and then entreated him to
narrate to her also the motives of his own strange, and he feared
unpardonable conduct, and the scenes which had followed their parting.

He came, he said, to England, ignorant of all that had past in his
absence, intending merely to wait upon his father, and communicate his
marriage, before he gave directions to his lawyer for the settlements
and preparations which were to precede its further publication. He
meant, also, to satisfy himself, of the real situation of Mr Monckton,
and then, after an interview with Cecilia, to have returned to his
mother, and waited at Nice till he might publicly claim his wife.

To this purpose he had written in his letter, which he meant to have
put in the Post-office in London himself; and he had but just alighted
from his chaise, when he met Ralph, Cecilia's servant, in the street.

Hastily stopping him, he enquired if he had left his place? "No,"
answered Ralph, "I am only come up to town with my lady."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26